Welcome to the North East. Welcome to Newcastle United, to Sunderland and to Middlesbrough, three clubs linked by their geographical proximity, each of them perched on the same precipice. Welcome to Whineside, to Woeside and to Tearside, where football bubbles through the veins of a region and where, this season at least, it threatens to corrode the soul.

Welcome to another hellish weekend, another skirmish in the grinding battle against relegation, one that the trio cannot hope to survive intact. Like it or not, there has always been more to unite than divide these local rivals — history, isolation, heavy industry, underachievement — and now they are locked together in a nauseous tailspin. Wish one well and you effectively curse another.

How have they got here and who is culpable? Who will survive and who will crumple and, whatever happens, then . . . well, what happens next?

The questions are raw and possible answers are blurred by the maelstrom; this is less an attempt to explain than to capture a moment of delicacy, of suspended belief, of dreams placed on hold.

Simon Barnes: My perfect weekend

The Times columnist hopes that Newcastle inch closer to relegation and looks for life after the demise of Ronnie O'Sullivan

• Simon Barnes: My perfect weekend

• Simon Barnes: My perfect weekend

• Simon Barnes: My perfect weekend

World in motion: Armstrong proves he's on the ball online

The Times Chief Sports Reporter on the American cyclist's use of technology and the twelve labours of Justine Henin

• World in motion: US football is getting its knickers in a twist over Lingerie League

• World in motion: Australia look to get their skates on over Tatiana Borodulina

• World in motion: Death of polo horses is result of human frailty

Related Links

• Premier League video previews: Gerrard back

• You will not catch me resigning, says Southgate

• Time running out for Sbragia at Sunderland

Bigmouth Strikes Again

It is 9am on Friday at Sunderland’s Academy of Light and, just for a change, Roy Keane’s name is being mentioned. The Irishman’s resignation in early December, during the first stutter of his managerial career, has left the club grappling for identity. He brought together a spiky dressing-room and walked away when the spikes pricked.

Keane still dominates. His aura and charisma are missed — it was his famous soaring standards that, along with Niall Quinn’s vision, set Sunderland upon their latest journey — but, in spite of his recent appointment as Ipswich Town manager, he appears loath to move on. Yesterday, he was at it again, questioning the club’s psychology, casting doubt on their fitness.

Finally, Ricky Sbragia bit back. “He talks about mental toughness, but he brought the players in, didn’t he?” Keane’s successor said. “Roy left this club. He’s not here and we don’t talk about him. But for some reason, he keeps coming back. Maybe he still thinks he’s the manager. Maybe he’s just bored, so he thinks, ‘I’ll have a go at Sunderland.’ But I wouldn’t criticise Ipswich. I don’t think it’s right.

“What he does is up to him. But I don’t go and talk about any other clubs. I don’t say that Manchester United are going through a really bad season. Or that Arsenal are crap and are not showing any b*****ks. I wouldn’t say anything like that, it wouldn’t be true. I think he should just really concentrate on Ipswich. He’s back in football. He should enjoy it.”

Decisions, decisions I

There are some long shadows at Newcastle, too, and simultaneously, Alan Shearer is being asked about Michael Owen. There are a jumble of competing factors; Owen is out of form, Newcastle are away to Liverpool, his former club, tomorrow, and the club’s position is beyond precarious. After all the mismanagement, trophy signings and crass decisions, there is no scope for error, but Owen is out.

Among fans, the mood is bleak. Shearer’s arrival — ostensibly until the end of the season — has repaired the fractured bond between club and supporters, but disillusionment is ingrained. Nobody knows what torment relegation would bring — Mike Ashley, the owner, remains allergic to glasnost — but amid all the depression, there are tiny grains of optimism.